


The Answer is No

by Goldenbuttons



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-25 00:05:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 17,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldenbuttons/pseuds/Goldenbuttons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been the longest two years of his life</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Years

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the post Reichenbach stories I have read see Sherlock and John living "happily ever after". John's initial reaction differs, but he always forgives Sherlock, and things go back to the way they were. In real life, I don't know that it would be so straightforward. When I think about how I would react, I don't think I could forgive such a massive lie. So I decided to write the story; what if John couldn't forgive Sherlock?
> 
> This is the part where I need to say that if you recognise any character, then I don't own them. Everyone you recognise is a creation of either the wonderful ACD or the amazing Steven Moffatt and Mark Gatiss.  
> I made up the people you don't recognise; they are entirely the result of my own imagination. Sadly, I have virtually nothing in common with them; although I do know people who have some of their characteristics, none of them are based on any one person alone.

Sherlock.

It had been the longest two years of his life.

After faking his death, he had stayed two nights with Mycroft, arranging all those boring things (money, fake passports, anonymous prepaid mobile phones) that would enable him to do what had to be done. Mycroft had acquired a thrift shop wardrobe and after he bleached his hair, it had been chopped short. A pair of brown contacts and some cheap glasses, and no-one, not John, not Mrs Hudson, not even Mycroft would have recognised him. The hardest thing to disguise was his voice, but he consciously flattened his vowels, slurred his consonants and raised his voice by half an octave. It wasn’t perfect but it would have to do. There was no time for vocal lessons; he had to leave London NOW.

For two years he had travelled, firstly around Britain, then through Europe, parts of Asia and for the last seven months through the Americas. Near Bristol he had knocked one of Moriarty’s assassins on the back of his skull and tossed him into the Severn on the outgoing tide. In Glasgow he had anonymously forwarded enough evidence against another assassin to the police that even they could not fail to convict. In Milan, he dismantled a drug smuggling ring, by turning them against one another. In Indonesia, the port authorities paid to turn a blind eye were suddenly replaced by different officers on the day a people smuggling organisation was moving a ship load of misery. Last month, the FBI had received the evidence against a money laundering outfit, and now, as he reflected on his work, he could confirm that Moriarty’s entire web had been destroyed.

It helped that Moriarty’s paranoia had ensured that each part of the web was unaware of the actions of every other part. None of them had realised that an unseen agent was systematically destroying their entire operation. In fact, Sherlock had got close enough to some parts of the web to know that they had been overjoyed when they heard that another criminal enterprise had been stopped, thinking only that this would be an opportunity for them to move in, not realising that it was yet another part of their own network.

Now, he was tired. No, not tired, he was exhausted. He felt as if he had not slept properly since he left Baker Street. He had never been attached before to any place, but now all he could think of was of going home. To sleep in his own bed. To play his own violin. To experiment in his own kitchen. To sit companiably with his own friend.

He quickly sent a text message to Mycroft “Mission completed. Pick up at Heathrow at 1100 Friday” And then he lay down and had what he knew would be the last restless sleep of his entire mission. In two days, he would be home.

John

It had been the longest two years of his life.

When he saw Sherlock die, a part of John died with him. He walked through the next few days in a trance. Mycroft had arranged the funeral, and all John had to do was travel with Mrs Hudson in the car which was sent for them. 

For the next three weeks, he scarcely left the flat. Mycroft came around and offered to continue paying Sherlock’s share of the rent, which was when John suddenly snapped out of his torpor. He nearly threw Mycroft down the stairs in his haste to remove him from the flat. 

He rang his therapist, and kept a few appointments, and after two months realised that he could not continue as he was. Every day he saw reminders of his time with Sherlock; every street seemed to remind him of a crime they had solved. He couldn’t walk past Angelo’s without a pang. Even passing a few homeless men near Baker Street left him overwhelmed. St Barts, well, he would never know how he would have reacted to St Barts, he simply couldn’t go within three blocks of the place. 

After two months, John moved to Edinburgh. A medical centre in Leith needed a GP. There wasn’t much excitement in the work, but the city was unfamiliar to him and he knew that he wouldn’t run into memories on every street corner. His work wasn’t onerous, and he discovered the many charms of the northern city, with its imposing castle, the Royal Mile, and only a few hundred yards from work, the Royal Yacht Britannia. When Harry came to stay a few months after his move, he almost enjoyed showing her over his new home town. It wasn’t London, but in some ways it was better. He had made a few friends at work, and could be found most Friday nights in his local, where he had gained a reputation as a decent sort of a bloke, a bit quiet, but never any trouble. It was there that he had met Grace, the first woman he dated since his move north, and although the romance had ended after a few weeks, Grace had introduced him to a few of her friends, who in turn had introduced him to a few more. 

Eleven months after Sherlock had died he moved from a minute bedsitter into a one bedroom flat and started to buy a few things to make it feel like home. He was starting to think that he would probably stay here for the rest of his life. The days of constant excitement were over, but he could be comfortable. Who knew, maybe in a year or so he might even buy his own flat, put down roots, find someone to share his life.


	2. Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past two years have been hard for Mycroft too.

Mycroft

It had been the longest two years of his life. But he feared that it would pale into insignificance compared with the next few weeks.

When Mycroft and Sherlock had sat down to work out their plan to bring down James Moriarty, they knew it would be difficult, but were confident that they had taken every contingency into account. They were wrong, and how it stuck in his throat to say it.

They had fed Moriarty a mixture of lies, truths and half truths, enough to give him a false sense of superiority which would cause him to over-reach, to go so far that the truth would be revealed for the entire world to see. Sherlock’s recording of their roof-top conversation was just for added certainty in court. The brothers had simply never contemplated the extent of Moriarty’s psychopathy. They had planned for a fake suicide to induce Moriarty to show his hand, but they had no real expectation that their plans would need to be put in to action. 

When Mycroft had seen Sherlock that night, he was shattered to see his brother’s distress. Although they had grown up without friends, both had believed that this enabled them to put their whole energies into their work. Neither of them had craved the distraction of personal relationships. Yet here was Sherlock, distraught at the still present threat to John, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. Clearly, Sherlock would not be able to go back to Baker Street, at least not until Moriarty’s web had been destroyed, and for the operation to succeed, none of his friends (apart from Molly Hooper, whose involvement was unavoidable) could know the truth.

When Sherlock had left London two days later, with a bad haircut, second hand clothes, a prepaid phone, and some false passports, Mycroft had no idea if, or when, they would see one another again. From time to time, he would receive an anonymous text message. Apart from that, there were only occasional withdrawals from his emergency accounts to indicate that Sherlock was still alive.

He had used his influence to ensure that Lestrade’s name was cleared and he was reinstated within a couple of months. The rent on 221b Baker Street was paid into Mrs Hudson’s bank account on the first day of each month. She seemed surprised but understanding when Mycroft explained that it would hurt too much to see someone else living in his brother’s home.

Dr Watson, John, had been a more difficult problem. He had refused to accept money from Mycroft, he refused to even see him. When he moved to Edinburgh, Mycroft had checked out the staff of the clinic where he was employed, he checked out the other tenants in his block of flats, he checked out the publican and other drinkers at his ‘local’. If John had left Britain, it would have been more difficult, but as long as he stayed in the country, Mycroft could ensure his safety. After their last meeting, however, he was reluctant to show his hand, and sometimes even his network was unable to tell him everything about Dr Watson’s activities.

Sherlock had texted that his mission was accomplished, but Mycroft didn’t know what Sherlock planned to do with his life now.

Tomorrow, he would send a car to Heathrow, no, he wouldn’t send a car, he would go himself. See for himself that his baby brother really was alive and well.

##

On Friday, the man whom he met coming off the New York flight was a shadow of the brother he had last seen two years ago. It was impossible to believe that he had lost even more weight. His face was drawn, and there were shadows under his tired eyes. At first, those eyes weren’t even the right colour, but even when he had taken out the contact lenses, dyed his hair back to its original colour and showered and changed into his own clothes, the man in front of him bore only a resemblance to the man he knew. It was only as he told of his deductions that had enabled him to bring down Moriarty’s web that Mycroft saw a spark of the old Sherlock.

For his part, he was able to assure his brother that Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and Dr Watson were well. It was only when he asked for a car to take him back to Baker Street to see John “oh yes, and Mrs Hudson too, of course”, that Mycroft explained that John was not there. He quickly reassured Sherlock that John was unharmed, and that Mycroft’s people were keeping a close eye on him in his new life in Edinburgh, and watched as his brother’s expression crumbled. He feared for a moment that there might be real tears, but Sherlock quickly pulled himself together and demanded that Mycroft arrange a flight to Edinburgh in the morning, if not tonight.

Mycroft had genuinely hoped that there would be no arguments, at least for a little while, after Sherlock’s return. He supposed that five hours together was as long a peace as he could remember. Reluctantly, Sherlock had agreed to stay in London-there was paperwork to be completed, meetings to be held and a press conference to be scheduled for Monday. “BUT” he insisted ”just in case there is some cowboy out there who wants to make a name for himself, we have to bring John back to London to ensure his safety. Just in case. And then we can arrange for John to move back in to 221b, and we can go back to taking cases again. It’ll be just like it was, but safer because we will just be dealing with criminals, not with psychopaths.”

Mycroft reluctantly agreed, because it was always possible that John would agree to Sherlock’s plans, but he could not share Sherlock’s certainty.


	3. Assumptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft doesn't think it will be as simple as Sherlock assumes.

Friday

“Mycroft, you probably should collect John from Edinburgh tonight. I can spend the weekend telling him about the past two years and we can organise our move back to Baker Street. He’ll probably want to get another job somewhere in London too. You know what he’s like; he has this boring need for a boring job. It makes him feel needed. John is not ordinary, but he does do some ordinary things.”

And so Mycroft reluctantly rang John’s phone. Over the past two years John had changed his number a couple of times, but whenever had he changed his phone number, Mycroft had updated his own phone. He had never rung the current number, but he had no doubt that it was the right number. 

To his surprise, on the third ring it was answered by a distinctly female voice 

“John Watson’s phone, can I help you?” 

“Oh, is Doctor Watson available? I need to speak to him urgently.” 

“I’m sorry, Doctor Watson is not working this weekend, if you need a doctor you should ring the clinic. If they have left for the day it will be redirected to the doctor on duty.” 

“No, no, it’s a personal call; I need to speak to John rather urgently.” 

“Right, he’s driving at the moment, I’ll have him ring you back in 30 minutes or so. Hang on, it came up as a private number, can you give me your name and number, just wait a moment while I grab a pen.” Mycroft left his details, and reiterated that the matter was personal and urgent.

By the time John rang back 45 minutes later, Sherlock was ready to scream with frustration. He had refused to eat, he had sat down, then paced, then sat, then paced. Mycroft was glad he had no weapons on hand; he had forgotten how difficult it was to live with a bored Sherlock. Eventually the phone rang, 

“Mycroft, I thought I had made it clear I didn’t wish to speak to you, we have nothing in common any more, you have no reason to ring me.” 

“John. Where to begin? It is rather important that I see you urgently. I can fly to Edinburgh tonight but if you prefer, I can have a plane waiting for you at the airport in an hour.” 

“Nope, not happening. Anyway I’m not in Edinburgh, I’m with a friend on our way to a weekend in the highlands, so if you have something to say, say it now. I’m not sure whether we will have mobile phone reception in an hour or two.”

Mycroft wondered how much to tell him. What was important, what would John be willing to listen to? After a short pause he started, 

“it’s about Sherlock.” 

“Of course it’s about Sherlock. What about him?” 

“Well, before he jumped we knew that Moriarty might force him into dying. Or pretending to die. Sherlock recorded their conversation so that we could put him away for good, but then Moriarty threatened that if Sherlock didn’t die, his snipers would kill Sherlock’s friends. Sherlock tried to get him to call off the snipers, but before he could, Moriarty shot himself. So Sherlock jumped.” 

“Yes, yes, I know this. Or guessed it. Well, most of it, the important parts. He did it to save his friends? Me? Who else?” 

“Mrs Hudson and the inspector. There was a sniper to take care of each of you.” 

“Hang on, you KNEW this might happen. And what do you mean, pretending to die? I saw him jump, I saw him dead.” 

“No, you didn’t. You saw what you were supposed to see, you saw a dead body with dark hair in a dark coat. You were shielded from his face.” 

“But...” 

“John, Doctor Watson, you didn’t see Sherlock’s dead body because he didn’t die. He left London and spent the last two years bringing down Moriarty’s network. On Monday the Met will announce that Sherlock’s name is cleared, Moriarty controlled a criminal organisation which Sherlock has dismantled, and that Sherlock is alive. Sherlock is back in London, he needs to see you. It is difficult for him to go to Edinburgh at the moment, so I will fly you here so he can explain everything.” 

“No. Just no. I can’t do this. I’m taking my friend Sophia away for the weekend. If he needs to speak to me, he can phone me himself, or he can come to Scotland when he is free and hope that I’m not busy. But coming to London? No, the answer is no.” 

With that, John disconnected the call and with shaking hands put his phone into his pocket. “Now love, are we having a cup of coffee here?” and he and Sophia walked into the roadhouse.

Sophia had heard John’s half of the conversation, so John felt obliged to tell her the whole story, from that fateful day when Mike saw him in the park until the day Sherlock died, no the day he didn’t die, but made his supposed best friend watch while he jumped off a building. By the time they arrived at the B & B just outside Inverness, he was all talked out.


	4. Still no

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No still means no.

John hadn’t deliberately withheld anything from his girlfriend, but they had only been seeing each other for a couple of months. He had always expected that if they kept seeing each other, he would tell her about Sherlock and their life and work together. He certainly hadn’t planned to spend their first weekend away together telling her, but now Mycroft had forced his hand. Sophia was interested, and asked a few questions about Sherlock and John’s life together. 

He shouldn’t be surprised that she was most interested to know the nature of their relationship; why would he be surprised, it had been a major topic of conversation of most of the people who knew them. John explained that their relationship was more brotherly than romantic, but that sometimes brothers fought, and he didn’t think he could forgive Sherlock if he had in fact faked his death. “How could he do that IN FRONT OF ME? HE MADE ME WATCH! Keep your eyes on me, he said. We were supposed to be best friends and he couldn’t even tell me the truth. And now it looks like he’s back and he expects me to drop everything and fly to London. Not happening. Even if I was in Edinburgh, it’s not happening.”

John half expected to have nightmares that night; it had been a while, but even with talking about Sherlock, and everything being fresh in his mind, he still slept well. 

After a massive breakfast, John and Sophia set off to explore the area around the Loch. The clambered over Castle Urquhart and wandered through tiny churchyards before visiting Culloden and Fort George, where John was fascinated by the collection of military honours and Sophia explained that the stained glass in the chapel of an angel playing bagpipes, “proves that God is Scottish!” It was only as they reached the B & B that night that John remembered that his phone was still turned off. Turning it on, he discovered that he had absolutely no reception, and with relief, turned it off again. 

John and Sophia had decided to take the whiskey trail on their way back to Edinburgh, but when they reached Perth in the mid afternoon, they reluctantly turned their phones on again. While Sophia took the wheel for the next part of the journey, John scrolled through his 27 messages, deleting almost all of them after only a glance. Variations on the theme of “he needs you to come back, a plane can be waiting within the hour” were moderately amusing at first, but then became annoying. Most of the 31 missed calls were from private numbers, although a couple of them were from Greg Lestrade. Although they had not seen each other since John moved north, he had long got over his anger at Greg’s behaviour before Sherlock’s death, no, not-death. Greg had been in an impossible position, and although he had been upset at the time, John had made his peace a long time ago. With some trepidation, he rang Greg.

“John, thank God, where are you, why aren’t you answering your phone?”

“I’m on my way back to Edinburgh from a romantic weekend in the highlands. Where we were staying had no phone reception, so I left my phone off, just checked it now. What’s the problem, is this anything to do with the call I got from Mycroft on Friday afternoon?”

“Mycroft. Sherlock. Did Mycroft tell you the bastard is still alive?”

“Yes, expected me to drop everything, fly back to London, pretend nothing had ever happened. Not going to happen. I have a life here. I’ve got a job, I’ve got friends, got a girlfriend. I’m thinking of buying a flat here, it’s a great city, I’ll probably stay here for the rest of my life. I don’t need Sherlock bloody Holmes to come along and stuff my life up all over again. The only reason I might visit London is to see Harry, and that probably won’t happen too often, we’ve never been THAT close.”

“Well”, said Greg “Mycroft did sound very anxious to have you here. Something about making sure you’re safe once they make the big announcement tomorrow. Apparently Sherlock is just about shooting the walls with worry about you.”

“The only thing that places my life in danger is being around the Holmes brothers. I told Mycroft ‘No’ on Friday, the answer is still no. I suppose I’m glad he’s alive, but after all he put me through, I don’t want to see him again. Not now, maybe not ever. At least not for a long time. And if he really wants to speak to me, he can call me himself, instead of getting other people to do his dirty work.”

“I think he did ring John...”

“Yes, but my phone had no reception near Inverness. Well, you can tell him from me, I’ll be back in Edinburgh tonight, I work between 8am and 8pm depending on my shifts, so if he wants to talk to me, he should ring after 8pm, or on the weekend. No, make it just on the weekend, I know him, he’s likely to ring at 2am and not understand why I’m annoyed at being woken up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The highlands of Scotland are absolutely beautiful, and the only place in Great Britain which I have visited which had no mobile phone reception. On my way from a B & B south of Loch Ness I detoured via a little country churchyard, which made it difficult to make an urgent birthday phone call until we reached Inverness itself.  
> The regimental museum at Fort George contains, among other things, 16 Victoria Crosses, and there is a stained glass window in the chapel of an angel playing the bagpipes. Anyone who has seen the beauty of the highlands could well believe that God is indeed Scottish.


	5. The Empty House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is moving on with his new life.

For the rest of the journey home, John expected Sherlock to call. 

When the phone did ring, he answered without checking the caller ID, so was surprised to hear Harry’s voice. 

“John, I had a weird call from Mycroft Holmes, something about Sherlock not being dead. John, did you lie to me? Were you two part of a conspiracy? What is going on? JOHN???” 

“Harry, just shut up, don’t be ridiculous, of course I didn’t lie to you. It looks though as if Sherlock and Mycroft lied to me. What did Mycroft ring you about?” 

“Some story about how you and I might be in some sort of danger. John, I thought all of that was behind you. WHAT IS GOING ON?” John could hear the rapidly rising panic in Harry’s voice. 

“Harry, I have no idea what’s happening. I’ve been out of mobile coverage for the weekend, I spoke to Mycroft for five minutes or so, something about them wanting me to fly to London, but I told him that is just not going to happen. I think that I’ll be perfectly safe as long as I stay away from the Holmes brothers, but you’re in London, so if it makes you feel safer, call him back and let him arrange protection for you. I can guarantee you will be well protected, but he if you think I’m over-protective, you have seen nothing until you see Mycroft Holmes in action. I think that if I was with him for too long I’d probably be arrested for murdering the British government. Like I said, if it makes you feel safer though you should go for it.” They rang off with Harry promising to think about Mycroft’s offer and agreed that they definitely needed to see each other soon.

 

All evening John was distracted, expecting Sherlock to ring him. Eventually Sophia drove home and John tried to go to sleep. He tossed and turned all night, and startled at every sound, but the phone remained silent.

 

On Monday John didn’t start work until 11am, so he had a leisurely breakfast and made a couple of calls before work, setting up appointments later in the week to see some flats for sale. John arranged to meet an agent at his office on Tuesday afternoon. He scanned the newspaper and the net but couldn’t see any mention of Sherlock; maybe Mycroft was just manipulating him and Sherlock wasn’t going to be revealed to the world that day. All day he had his phone on silent, but checked for messages and missed calls after every patient. By mid-afternoon, John was convinced that the whole thing on Friday afternoon had been a hoax. Surely if Sherlock publicly returned from the dead, someone would ring him. When he returned home at 7pm, he heated a meal from his freezer, turned on the TV news channel and powered up his laptop.

 

Sherlock’s press conference was all over the news, all over the net. Mycroft wasn’t present, well if he was he was hidden from sight. Reporters asked how he had done it and Sherlock had admitted that he had received some assistance from “some people in government”. When he was asked about his long time friend and blogger, John Watson, Sherlock merely stated that Dr Watson had known nothing of his plans and that in the past two years he had made a new life for himself which didn’t include crime fighting. Yes, Sherlock had missed his friends and family, no he had not had the chance yet to see all of them in person to apologise.

 

Well, thought John, that’s a whole new subdued Sherlock. He looked older (of course), he looked tired; actually he looked exhausted. John felt his first twinge of sympathy for his former friend. If he rang, John would take the call. Then he remembered that he had told Greg to tell Sherlock not to ring during the week. Oh well, there was no going back. He had a new life, and Sherlock had no part in it, and probably wouldn’t want to have a part in it. Once he had recuperated, he would be back to his whirlwind life, rushing around London and ignoring everyone else’s wishes.

 

On Tuesday, John only worked a half day, and again, he kept his phone nearby and checked after each patient, but there were no messages or missed calls. He decided that Sherlock must have given up on contacting him. He felt an irrational annoyance; he didn’t want to talk to him, but he did want to know that Sherlock wanted to talk to him. With an ironic chuckle to himself, he left the surgery to grab some lunch before he went to check out some real estate.

 

The first flat was disappointing to say the least. John looked around and decided that the renovations to make it liveable would cost more than the flat itself. The next flat was in a part of town which John had always mentally referred to as ‘drug central’. He knew that a couple of his addicted patients frequented the area. He decided that seeing them in the surgery was enough. The third flat was in a better area, not too far from work and in good condition, but tiny. He would definitely not be able to invite friends around-any more than two or three guests and they would be falling out the doors. 

“You must have SOMETHING which would be suitable. Even if it needs a little bit of work done, just not surrounded by drug dealers, and big enough to hold a dinner party.” 

“Well, there is one other, but no, it’s not a flat, it’s a house. Hasn’t been lived in for a while, but I think it’s structurally sound, could use a tidy up and a coat of paint. If you want to look at it, maybe tomorrow afternoon?” 

“Why is it empty, is there something wrong with it?” 

“Deceased estate. The old man who used to live there didn’t really look after it properly, and then his children couldn’t decide whether to sell it, rent it out or one of them live in it. They decided last week it was too much trouble, they want to sell. They might even take a lower offer, especially if you remind them that it will need to be painted.” 

“Okay, I have to work late tomorrow, why don’t we go now, it’s still light. Is the electricity still on?” 

“Yes, but I promised my wife I’d take her out for dinner. What if I give you the key and directions; you go have a look, and drop in the keys on your way to work in the morning.”

 

On a whim, John decided to call Sophia to see if she would like to look at the house with him – it couldn’t hurt to have a second set of eyes to look for problems, and so it was that a few minutes later, John and Sophia were walking around outside a deserted house, discussing potential renovations. The garden was small and overgrown, but John knew a couple of weekends would fix that. They went up the front steps and John turned the key. The house was dusty and stuffy, but the rooms were comfortably spacious. The kitchen was old fashioned but serviceable, although in Sophia’s opinion, if John bought the house, the first thing to be replaced should probably be the oven.

 

With a spring in his step, John led Sophia towards the stairs, when they heard a noise upstairs. Squatters? Hopefully not, it would be a nuisance, and that was if they hadn’t already vandalised the place. Carefully John made his way upstairs, gesturing to Sophia to stay behind him. He almost wished he still had his walking stick, at least he would feel armed. 

Once upstairs, they carefully opened each of the doors, expecting at any moment that someone would jump out at them. The first two bedrooms were small and clearly empty. The main bedroom was larger but equally empty, and there was a breeze wafting the curtains; John went over to close the window and discovered that one window was open but the pane in the other was broken. 

“Well that would need to be fixed, even before the oven. I wonder if the noise we heard was from outside.” 

“It’s not likely, it really sounded as if it was in this room.” 

“Nothing here. Maybe it’s a ghost!” They laughed, and moved into the bathroom, which was small but adequate. Sophia turned on the taps and a torrent of rusty water spurted out, clearing in a few moments. 

“That would need to be checked, it might just be that it hasn’t been turned on for a while. Hope so.”

 

The next morning, John didn’t need to be at work until 11, so he decided to look at the house again before returning the key.

 

John thought that if things continued to go well with Sophia, he could see them both in this house. Maybe even with children. Once upon a time, his dreams had included a house a bit like this with a wife a bit like Sophia and a couple of kids. The army had made it a more distant dream; his years with Sherlock had left him feeling that this particular dream had passed him by. If he wanted children in his life he needed to do something about it and sooner rather than later. 

As he walked to the front door, John had the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. He looked around, thinking that maybe it was someone in the neighbourhood (Sherlock had always said that nosy neighbours were the best security system) but he couldn’t see anyone at all.

He stepped inside and turned to the sitting room on his right. Suddenly he heard another noise from upstairs, this time it definitely sounded like footsteps. Before he had time to think, John was half way up the stairs, it couldn’t be a ghost, this had to be sorted out now. At the top of the stairs he turned towards the main bedroom and suddenly stopped as a man stepped into the hallway. Before he could even think about what he was doing, he swung his left fist at the jaw of the man who had tortured his sleepless nights for the past two years. 

“You, you, what are you...” and then he connected. 

Sherlock didn’t even raise his hands to protect himself. “John, I am sorry, so very sorry, I didn’t mean, I had to, you were in danger, John, talk to me.”


	6. Always miss something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has miscalculated in more ways than one.

As John’s fist connected and Sherlock half fell the noise of the window breaking echoed through the house. Sherlock pulled himself up and looked to the hole in the wall just behind where he had been standing a moment before. 

“It looks like that’s another time you’ve saved me John.” 

But he spoke to his friend’s back as he rushed down the stairs. “John, stop, he could be still out there. Don’t go out.” 

John stopped and turned abruptly, “Well how am I supposed to get out of the house?” 

“Stop here for a few minutes, I’ll get some of Mycroft’s men to scour the area. Let me explain while we wait.” 

“Sherlock, no, I told Mycroft no. I told Greg no. What part of no don’t you understand?” 

“But John, I did it to save you. And Greg and Mrs Hudson, but mostly you.” 

“I don’t need saving when you’re not around Sherlock. I’m glad you’re alive but you lied to me and I can’t forgive that. You could have told me what you were planning to do, but you didn’t trust me enough. You could have told me. But you lied and you left me. Those first few weeks I nearly killed myself too, but now, I’ve got a whole new life. No-one shoots at me, no –one kidnaps me. I have friends, I have a life; it’s not perfect but I like it. Anyway, how did you know to come to this house, you couldn’t have known I would be here.” 

“Greg, Lestrade, you told him you were thinking of buying a flat. One of Mycroft’s Edinburgh agents contacted all the estate agents in the area, told them you were a black sheep relative, he wanted to help you buy your place, would they let him know if you made an appointment, to knock £10,000 off the price to you provided they contacted him. When an agent told him he had an appointment to show you some flats and a house, he bribed him to let you look at one on your own. But then you turned up with some woman, so I hid. I stayed here last night and was planning to find another way to see you. I thought I had all of Moriarty’s men but there’s always something; one of them must have followed me, and you got to save me again.” 

“And now he knows where I am, so he’s just as likely to aim at me next time. Sherlock, it’s good that you’re alive, but I’m not going back to London. My life is here now.” 

“John, you’re right, he knows where you are and he knows I’m alive. You have a choice, come with me, find the gunman, smoke him out or get Mycroft to put you into a safe house, if you want to be mollycoddled for the rest of your life.”

As he spoke, three men charged in the door. The one who was obviously in charge spoke first. 

“Mr Holmes, Dr Watson, I’m Agent Betts, can you show me where you were standing when the shot was fired.” 

Sherlock started up the stairs to show Betts the bullet hole and the direction from which the gun must have been fired. Meanwhile, one of the other agents, who introduced himself as Samuel Wright, addressed John. 

“Dr Watson, Mr Holmes, Mr Mycroft Holmes that is, suggested that you might want to go into a safe house until this man is captured.” 

“Would I be able to go home and get my things?” 

“Actually, the best way would be to collect you in an ambulance, announce that you have been killed and put you into protective custody until we catch the gunman.” 

“So can I tell my sister the truth, my girlfriend?” 

“Sorry, no-one. I can’t keep you safe if anyone knows.” 

“OK, let’s do that. While Sherlock is upstairs, just arrange the ambulance, get me away from here.” 

From upstairs came a voice 

“John, can you come up here for a moment, we just need to check your memory of the shooting.” 

“Sorry Sherlock, busy down here.” 

“But John...” 

“You were there Sherlock, I’m busy, you’d only call me an idiot for missing something.” 

Sherlock took a couple of steps down the stairs, then stopped, turned around and went back up to join Agent Betts. He was still there when an ambulance arrived a few minutes later, and John lay on the gurney, covered by a sheet as he was taken out of the house.


	7. The process of dying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To flush out the would-be killer, John's family and friends have to be convinced that he is dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, apologies for the two week break between chapters; sometimes life gets in the way. I'll try to do better next week.  
> I wonder if John is getting feelings of deja vu, because I am!

John had no idea where the ambulance finally stopped; after being driven for what seemed like hours but was probably only 20 minutes, the vehicle stopped and John emerged into a dimly lit garage. Agent Wright (“Call me Sam”) ushered John into what looked like a large Victorian semi-detached house, and offered him a cup of tea. 

“We might have a bit of a wait; we should at least be comfortable.” Then they sat in front of the TV to watch chat shows and wait for news. 

After about half an hour John was alarmed at the newsflash announcing that a man had been shot in a suburban house. A serious looking police inspector was interviewed, and he stated that yes, they were fairly sure who the victim was, but next of kin hadn’t been notified yet, no he wasn’t “known to police”, he was a decent citizen, who appeared to have been at the wrong place at the wrong time, no, the police had no firm theories at present, but prima facie, it looked like a reckless accident, maybe someone shooting at birds on the roof. 

John turned to Sam with an inquisitive expression on his face, “so they seriously think that Sherlock comes back from the dead, appears in Edinburgh and the first time I see him for more than two years someone shoots at us, and it’s an ACCIDENT!” 

“I’m fairly sure they know it isn’t an accident, but there’s no point in alarming people, after all it COULD be an accident, and if it isn’t then we are more likely to smoke out the sniper if he doesn’t know we’re looking for him.” 

When John’s phone rang a bit later, he went to answer, but Sam grabbed his wrist, 

“No! You’re dead, remember.” 

As Sam answered the phone, he gestured for John to be quiet. 

“Hello, John Watson’s phone, can I help you?” 

“Is Dr Watson there?” 

“I’m sorry, he’s not available, who’s calling?” 

“This is the clinic calling, Dr Watson was supposed to be here half an hour ago, he has patients waiting for him, where is he?” 

“I’m sorry, he won’t be in today. Could you give me his manager’s name? I’ll need to speak to them, could you put me through?” 

“Dr George is the practice manager; I’ll put you through to her.” In a moment, Sam was breaking the news to a distraught Kathy George that one of her staff had been killed, presumably in a random shooting. Sam explained that the police hadn’t been able to contact John’s next of kin for a formal identification yet, did Dr George have the details in her records? Kathy promised to ring back in a few minutes when she had retrieved John’s file and confirmed that it would be alright for her to tell the rest of the staff and John’s patients. 

In less than five minutes Dr George rang back and gave Harry’s details to Sam, and in a shaky voice told him 

“now I get to the part I hate with patients, I get to tell people that someone they cared about is dead. I love my job, but this is the worst part.” 

Sam pocketed John’s phone and John and Sam had just returned to the kitchen to get another cup of tea, when the phone rang again. 

“John Watson’s phone, can I help you?” 

“Who is this?” 

“My name is Sam Wright. I’m a police officer. And you are?”

“I’m John’s girlfriend, Sophia. I just heard that there was a shooting in the street we were in last night and I just wanted to check that he is OK. He is OK, isn’t he?” 

“I’m sorry Miss, I’m sorry, I don’t know your surname?” 

“Moran, Sophia Moran, I’ve been going out with John for the past few months. Where is he?” 

“Well I’m sorry to tell you Miss Moran that John has been shot.” 

“What? Is he...” 

“I’m sorry Miss Moran, Dr Watson has been killed. We are investigating, but it seems it might have been a horrible accident.” 

Sam often thought, like Kathy George, that he found this the worst part of his job, except that Dr George’s patients might have been sick and expected to die; when Sam had to break bad news to family and friends, it was usually a bolt from the blue. What he didn’t expect was to be quizzed by Sophia. 

"Are you sure? Could it be something to do with this friend of his, Sherlock Holmes? He wanted John to move back to London and John refused. Could he have done this?” 

Sam was taken aback, “Mr Holmes was with Dr Watson at the time of the shooting.” 

“See, I knew it.” 

“No, he was with Dr Watson at the time, the shot came from outside, it couldn’t have been Mr Holmes” 

“But he could have, I don’t know, hired a killer. He was mixed up with criminals I think. Didn’t I hear that he was a fraud?” 

By this time Sam felt as if Sophia was determined to convict Sherlock of John’s murder. If Sam hadn’t known better, he would have called Sherlock in immediately for questioning. Instead he asked when Sophia would be available to talk to the police about John’s last days. Sophia offered to come in that afternoon, and Sam arranged to pick her up in half an hour. When he ended the call, John was angry, 

“why are you subjecting her to questioning now? She must be upset, she is, isn’t she? And what could she tell us anyway? I know how hard it was for me when Sherlock faked his death, how is she going to be when she finds out this is all false?” 

“John, we’ll be gentle. Sometimes people in shock react like this. On the other hand, she seems awfully keen to get Mr Holmes, Sherlock that is, in to trouble. We need to find out why. Agent Betts will be here in a few minutes and then I’ll go and pick up Miss Moran. I’m sure that Mr Holmes, Mr Mycroft Holmes, will have some questions too.”

“You can’t seriously think that Sophia will be able to tell you anything.” 

“Well, Mr Sherlock Holmes seemed sure that he had taken out all of Moriarty’s web, so whoever shot at you, or him, we don’t know who the target was, well was it one of Moriarty’s network that had been missed, was it some other criminal the Mr Holmes had had dealings with before, or was it just some random criminal who thought he would make a name for himself? And, of course, there is the big question; did he aim at you, or at Mr Holmes? Did he follow you there, or had he been following Mr Holmes from London. Miss Moran might be able to tell us if anyone had been following you”


	8. Dead and (almost) buried

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The easiest way to escape being killed might be playing dead.

Within a few minutes, Agent Betts (“Call me David”) and Mycroft had arrived with the news that Sherlock, much to his disgust, had been ‘detained’ by some of Mycroft’s staff in offices on the other side of the city. Mycroft would stay with John while Sam and David went to see Sophia.

As soon as they left the house, Mycroft explained to John that he would need to lay low until the would-be killer was caught. 

“What if we don’t catch him?” 

“Then John Watson will be buried and you will have to become someone else. We can arrange for medical qualifications to be produced in your new name, but, to be frank, we will probably need to move you to another country. Somewhere in the Commonwealth would be easiest to arrange. Do you have any preference?” 

“Do I have to decide now?” 

“Not necessarily now, but sometime later today.” 

“So quickly? Can’t I even tell Harry? Sophia? When I thought Sherlock was dead, well it would have made all the difference if I had known...” 

“And that, I am afraid is the precise reason you cannot, must not, tell anyone. If someone is after you and they see Harry suddenly recover from her grief, they may know that there is something, shall we say, untoward. If they can’t get you, they may strike at her. And then, they will know to keep chasing you.” 

“So Sherlock knows I’m alive? But can’t know where I am?” 

“Correct in both cases. If your sniper is not detained today, you will be out of Edinburgh tomorrow and out of Britain by the day after. Wherever you decide to go, Sherlock cannot know. He can fake grief, but I don’t think he could resist the urge to follow you. Three days ago he wasn’t leaving London, and when you wouldn’t come to him, he immediately insisted on flying here. Your assassin has probably followed him.” 

“So what do Sam and David expect to get out of Sophia? I hadn’t told her anything about Sherlock until you rang me on Friday. I’m sure she can’t tell them anything about this.” 

“You’re probably right, but quite apart from anything she could tell us, it would be terribly suspicious if we didn’t ask her about your life. This is all part of the ‘Assassination of John Watson’.”

***  
Agents Betts and Wright had escorted Sophia to an office in the centre of the city, and were gently questioning her about her relationship with John. She insisted that she had no idea who would want to hurt John, but also insisted that it must be something to do with Sherlock, that he must have returned in order to kill his former friend. They assured her that they would be questioning Mr Holmes, but that anything she could tell them which could act as leverage would help. Had John told her anything about Sherlock’s activities that might be used against him? Both agents were somewhat taken aback at the vehemence of Sophia’s reply. Sherlock had placed his friend in danger, and then had faked his death. He had apparently been travelling around the world, all the while killing people whom he suspected of involvement in crime, even though he couldn’t prove it. This according to Sophia, was just the sort of thing John’s former friend would do. He had no respect for the law or for the lives of others. When they drove her home, Sophia promised to contact them immediately if she thought of anything else which might help the investigation. 

***  
When they returned to the house, Sam remarked to Mycroft 

“I don’t know what he’s done to her, but Sophia Moran REALLY hates your brother sir.” 

“Moran? Is that her name? It sounds familiar. I wonder...I am sure that there was a Moran on one of the lists Sherlock gave me.” 

Immediately, Mycroft raised his phone to his right ear. 

“Anthea, could you please check some details of a Miss Sophia Moran. She may be related to one of the operatives my brother had dealings with during his absence.” 

Within a couple of minutes, Mycroft had his reply: 

“Miss Moran‘s parents died some years ago, she was then brought up by her older brother, Sebastian. He was in the army when their parents died, but obtained an honourable discharge and returned home from Afghanistan to care for his sister. There were some whispers about his involvement in illegal gambling, but nothing could ever be proven; a couple of dead bodies that might have been connected, but equally might have been unconnected to him. He dropped out of sight about two years ago, and his sister left London at about the same time. It will take a little time to find out where she went, but she reappeared in Edinburgh about four months ago and met John Watson a couple of weeks after she arrived. I’m cross checking your brother’s reports with Interpol’s records about the whereabouts of Sebastian Moran, but so far there are no matches.” 

“Have you spoken to Sherlock yet?” 

“No. Do you think that would be wise sir?” 

“It might not be wise, but it could save a lot of time.” 

Mycroft turned to John. 

“Have you decided where you want to go?” 

“I hear they need doctors in Tasmania. “


	9. Inconsistencies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The immediate problem is to sort out Sophia Moran's story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only apologies for the delay in this chapter. I had written the chapter when I realised that it didn't fit with the direction in which my characters wanted to go, so the whole thing had to be re-written.  
> Now they have told me how they want to resolve things, I hope to have the next chapter within the week.

“Sherlock, do you know anything about a Colonel Sebastian Moran? John has been dating his sister.” 

“Mycroft, I sent you reports, didn’t you study them at all? For the whole time I was tracking down Moriarty’s web I kept hearing whispers about a Colonel Moran. It was the only link between the different operations, and no-one knew anything about him except his name; the colonel this or the colonel that. I was never sure, but I wondered if he was John’s assassin.” 

“I thought that you had taken down all of Moriarty’s men. Did you take care of Moran?” 

“Of course I did. I must have. There was no one left. About three months ago I was in San Francisco; I had infiltrated a bikie gang. An Englishman arrived and the gang leaders seemed to spend a lot of time with him. I arranged for him to be killed in a drive by shooting, the police assumed it was just part of a gang war. I sneaked away from the wake, went through his room and logged on to his laptop-he had some emails there ‘to Seb from Sophia’. They were mostly useless sentimental gibberish, but one said he should come back soon, that she was keeping an eye on things at home while he passed on instructions to the branch office, but that she had some jobs around the house for him to do.” 

Xxxx

“Anthea, what do we know about Sebastian Moran?” 

“I have Corporal Moran’s records here sir. A very undistinguished career, he was charged with being absent without leave for two days before he went to Afghanistan, and then there were some irregularities in his stores, but nothing had been proven, and then just as his commanding officer had started an investigation his parents were killed in an accident and he applied for a discharge to go home to care for his much younger sister.” 

“Corporal, I thought he was a Colonel?” 

“No, he was a corporal, a stores clerk. Only in the army for five years or so.” 

“A stores clerk? But he had some weapons training?” 

“Some. He passed his basic training but only just. I spoke to a couple of his fellow trainees, they remembered him as being rather antisocial, a bit shy, thought that if he had a gun he was more danger to us than to the enemy. I have checked the army records; there has not been any Colonel Moran in the British Army for at least the last ten years.” 

Xxxx

“Miss Moran, this is Agent Betts, I’m sorry to bother you at such a sad time, but I need to speak to you again. Can I pick you up in an hour or so to ask you some more questions, just about Dr Watson’s friends.”

“Do you really need to? I’m sure I have told you everything.”

“Miss Moran, would it be easier if we came to your flat? I don’t want to put you out if it can be helped.” 

“Alright, come around here. In an hour, you said?”

An hour later, David Betts, Sam Wright and Mycroft Holmes pulled up outside Sophia’s flat. As David and Sam reiterated their questions from earlier in the day, Mycroft stood in front of the fireplace and inspected the photos on the mantelpiece. Suddenly he turned, with a small silver frame in his hand. 

“Miss Moran, who is this man with you? The soldier.” 

“That is my brother. It was taken just before he went to Afghanistan.” 

“Afghanistan? Do you know if he knew Dr Watson? He served there a few years ago.” 

“I don’t know. He was only there for a few months and he came back when our parents died, about eight years ago. He died himself a few months ago, so I can’t ask him.” 

“Did he, I’m so sorry to hear that. It must be difficult for you. How did he die?” 

“He was holidaying in America and got caught in the crossfire of some gang war. It was a terrible time for me. I moved here just afterwards, everywhere I went in London brought back too many memories.” 

“So you were in London when he died?” 

“No, I was in America with him. We were always close, but I was meeting some girlfriends I had ‘met’ online, and he wasn’t interested, so that day we went to different places.” 

“Did you ever meet Jim Moriarty?” 

Sophia started, “I don’t think so, but the name is familiar. Do you think he might have shot John?” 

“I don’t think he pulled the trigger, but I think he might have issued the orders.”

After a few minutes of further questioning, the men left Sophia’s flat and returned to John’s safe house.

En route, Mycroft’s phone rang, and to his surprise, he saw that the call was from Sherlock. 

“Sherlock, to what do I owe this honour? You so rarely call.” 

“I did send text messages, but you weren’t answering, so I had to phone. I need to see John, I have to explain things to him; can you arrange it. Please?” 

“Sherlock, I will if I can, but not if it places John in any danger. Sherlock, do you know if Sebastian Moran’s sister was with him when he died?” 

“No, I’m almost certain she wasn’t. As I said earlier, he had emails from her on his laptop, and she was talking about keeping an eye on things at home. Anyway, didn’t she move to Edinburgh four months ago? Moran was killed a month later.” 

“Was he? She said she moved here after he died.“ 

“Check with John, when did he meet her? If she moved here four months ago, then she is lying if she says she was with her brother when he died.”

Xxxx

John was able to quickly confirm that he had met Sophia four months ago. She had never mentioned a brother, yet alone that he had died. When Mycroft asked John about whether Sherlock could be brought to the house, he could sense John’s ambivalence. 

“Well, think about it John. In the meantime, we should go back to see Miss Moran and check her dates. You lie low, we will be back within the hour.”

This time, Sam Wright stayed with John while David Betts drove Mycroft back to Sophia’s flat. When they knocked, there was no answer. David pulled out some tools from his pocket, and quickly opened the door. David and Mycroft quickly worked their way through the flat. Drawers and cupboards in the bedroom were open and half empty, but their fears were crystallised when they saw the vacant spot on the mantelpiece, where a photograph frame had been half an hour before. 

Mycroft didn’t hesitate. He quickly pulled out his phone: “Anthea, are John Watson’s papers ready? We have to move him out of Edinburgh within the hour and increase the security on Sherlock immediately. Sophia Moran has disappeared.”


	10. Brothers in arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in decades the brothers are working together.

John had always known that Mycroft was more than a ‘mere civil servant’, but he was still amazed by the speed with which his new life was arranged. Within an hour he was on a flight with Anthea to London. When they arrived at Heathrow, they were met by a man who was waiting for them with a suitcase of slightly worn clothes and the tickets and necessary papers for Dr James Walker. Anthea explained that John, now James, would be met after he cleared Customs and Immigration in Sydney. The agent who interviewed him in Sydney would provide him with his car and front door keys, his new phone and a pistol with the necessary authorisation, would take him to his flat and give him details of his new job in the Emergency Ward of a large suburban hospital. John would be there for as long as it took Mycroft and Sherlock to clear up the last of Moriarty’s web. Finally, Anthea gave him a phone with a strict warning that it was to be used only for calls to and from Mycroft.

Afterwards, John always thought that it was the shock of the situation that made him lean over and give Anthea a hug and a kiss firstly on both cheeks then on her lips. The expression on her face would be a lasting memory!

To John’s surprise within an hour of leaving London behind, he was yawning, and struggling to keep his eyes open. When he opened his eyes it was nearly time to change planes for the connecting flight into Sydney.

xxxxxxx

Knowing that Anthea would ensure John’s safety, Mycroft now turned his attention to more immediate matters; to locate Sophia Moran and to protect Sherlock.

With Agents Wright and Betts, Mycroft went to see Sherlock; this was not going to be easy. As he expected, Sherlock was furious when Mycroft told him that John had already left Edinburgh and would be out of the country within an hour or two. 

“No, I will not tell you where he is going. For your safety, but more especially for his safety, you must stay away from John until this is resolved. Do not attempt to pursue him. If you try to follow him I will have you arrested. If you want to help John, you will help me to find Sophia Moran.” 

The response was immediate and unthinking 

“Mycroft, I’m not here to be your lackey. I will return to Baker Street, it is my home. For the past two years, all my work has been aimed at going home to Baker Street. If you need to clarify anything, text me.” 

“Sherlock, I can’t protect you at Baker Street. You should stay here. This is where she was last seen, we can keep you safe here and once we have found her, you can go home. In fact, I’ll have you flown back to London or wherever you want to go by private jet, but NOT YET. Not until Sophia Moran is caught”. 

Sherlock could feel a rising tide of anger. Once, he would have simply exploded with a stream of invective at Mycroft, but he knew that, without Mycroft’s help, he would not have been able to clean up Moriarty’s network; he would not have been able to return to Britain. Instead of unleashing his anger, bit back the angry words he had first thought to utter. Instead he turned on his heel and left the room. If he stayed, he was sure to say something which would disappoint John. 

After several frustrating days (and nights) of steady work in Edinburgh both Sherlock and Mycroft were ready to concede that Sophia Moran had slipped through their fingers. If she was still in the city she was being protected from their sight. It was more likely that she had left Scotland, and had probably returned to London. Hopefully she believed that John was dead, but even if she suspected that he was alive, Mycroft was confident that no-one other than Anthea and himself knew where he was. After some half-hearted attempts, even Sherlock had given up trying to get the information out of his brother. 

“Sherlock, if you want to see him, help me. When we capture Miss Moran, I will tell you where John is; I will even give you a ticket to the nearest airport, but after that it will be up to you to persuade him to come back. I won’t even be able to make him talk to you, but I will tell you where he is AFTER we have Sophia Moran under lock and key. Until then, it would be too easy for her to follow you and kill John. I will not let you help her to do that.”

Although Mycroft was aware of the danger both John and Sherlock were in, he couldn’t help but be pleased that for the first time in decades, he was openly working with his brother and not against him. Since their childhood, Sherlock had stubbornly refused to acknowledge that from time to time their objectives coincided. Even when he was hunting down Moriarty’s web, he had only grudgingly accepted Mycroft’s help. Now, however, they clearly shared an objective –to capture Sophia Moran and thus protect John Watson.

As they prepared to return to London to continue their hunt, Mycroft pondered on how to keep Sherlock away from Baker Street –surely the first place Sophia Moran would go to find him. Despite the improvement in their relationship, Mycroft knew that asking him would result in a firm “No”, and trying to order him would not end well. Eventually he decided to use Sherlock’s affection for his landlady. 

“Sherlock, Ms Moran already knows that Mrs Hudson is precious to you. It is not beyond her to use your affection against you. Going back to Baker Street will place Mrs Hudson in danger. You can stay with me, but only until we have caught her. You don’t want to stay with me, and I don’t want you to stay with me, and my housekeeper emphatically does not want to clean up after you, so she doesn’t want you to stay either, but for Mrs Hudson’s safety, I think you probably should.” 

To Mycroft’s surprise, Sherlock agreed, “but it’s only temporary. The day we catch her, I’m moving home.”


	11. Struggling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is struggling to cope without John, Mycroft is struggling to cope with Sherlock, John is just struggling.

It had been too good to be true. For a few days Mycroft had been thrilled at how well he and Sherlock were working together, but within a week it was clear that the arrangement was not working. Sherlock was eager to find Sophia Moran, to return to Baker Street, to be able to go to John and explain himself, but as every lead turned into a dead end, his behaviour became increasingly difficult. Mycroft had fondly hoped that their time together could lead to an improvement in their relationship, that some of the old resentments between them could be resolved, but for the past few days, whenever he made any overtures towards his brother, Sherlock’s response was scathing. 

“Mycroft, you wouldn’t understand. John is more than just my friend. He can’t solve things himself, but he helps me to solve problems. He isn’t a source of light, but he reflects light and I work better when he is around. I NEED John. I think better when he is with me. You will have to bring him back.” 

“No. I have told you before, John’s safety is paramount here. Until we find Sophia Moran and determine exactly what her part was in the shooting last week. It is possible that she is totally innocent in this matter. Maybe she fled in fear for her own life, but until I speak with her, I have to assume that she played a part in the shooting. If the shooting is not connected to her, then we still need to find who was responsible. We have to assume that John was the target. If the assassin, whoever he or she may be, knows that John is alive, he will be in danger again.”

Finally, a week after their return to London, Mycroft came to a decision. He rang John Watson. 

“John” 

“Yes?” 

“This is Mycroft Holmes, how are you settling into your new life?” 

“The flat is fine, I’ve only done one shift at the hospital, but so far, so good. My colleagues seem friendly, but it’s difficult to settle in when I see assassins around every corner.” 

“Well, I’m hoping that we can resolve that soon, and then you can come home. If you want to. Or go anywhere else.” 

“How is the hunt going? Has Sherlock solved it yet?” Mycroft could hear the bitterness in John’s voice. 

“He doesn’t want to admit that he is stumped. He complains that he needs you here to help shine a light on the mystery.” 

“And whose fault is that I’m not there? If he hadn’t lied to me two years ago, I would have stuck by his side. I’d have helped him bring down Moriarty’s network. I’d be there now to help him. He made it very clear that he didn’t want me with him, so he can hardly complain now that I’m not there.” 

“John, you know that for an intelligent man, he is remarkably stupid when it comes to personal relationships. He had never had a friend before. It never occurred to him that a friend would stick with him while he brought down Moriarty’s organisation. He thought he was protecting you. He doesn’t know how friendship works.” 

“Do you? You BOTH kept me totally in the dark about this. You BOTH lied to me. Repeatedly. Don’t tell me that you are any better at friendship than your brother.“ 

“If it’s any consolation, I did tell Sherlock all along that I thought he should trust you. I felt badly about keeping his survival a secret from you.” 

“Strangely enough, no, it doesn’t make me feel any better at all. Anyway, I have to leave for work in half an hour, so if there is nothing else...” 

“Actually, yes, there is something. Sherlock is becoming desperate. He wants to talk to you. He claims he needs your input to help order his mind, to throw some light on the mystery. Will you talk to him?” 

“No. Yes. I need to think about it. I’ll ring you after my shift?” 

Mycroft worried about how he would manage to sleep but knew that if he stayed up with his brother that he would end up telling him what he had done, so he reluctantly made his way to bed. At least there his secret would be safe. 

“Bed, Mycroft? Always too lazy to do legwork! Why can’t you at least help me go through these papers? The answer must be here somewhere.” 

“Sherlock, I’m going to bed. You should try to sleep yourself, at least for an hour or two. You will think more clearly.” 

“I CAN’T! I don’t have the time to sleep. If I sleep I’ll take even longer to find the answers.” 

Mycroft could hear the rising frustration in his brother’s voice and knew that if he stayed this would end in a pointless screaming match. 

“Do what you like, I am going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” With that, Mycroft turned on his heel and left the room. 

Despite his anxiety about John’s response, he slept soundly. When his phone rang at 5.30am, he struggled to wake, before he realised that it must be John. 

“Mycroft, I didn’t wake you, did I?” 

“No, not at all” Mycroft stifled a yawn. 

“Oh, sorry, I did wake you, didn’t I. Never mind, I need to talk to you about this proposal of yours. I can’t see how it would help. I really don’t want anything to do with him. I was devastated when I thought he was dead, but now I find out that he was lying to me all along, I’m just not sure I could keep my cool. I don’t think it would help if I told him how I feel about him right now.” 

“John, when this whole thing is over, I’ve agreed that he can travel to see you, to try to persuade you to come back. That doesn’t mean that you are under any obligation to do so. By then, you might have decided to stay where you are. All I’m asking of you is to give him a chance. He just doesn’t know how to treat a friend, because he has never had one. I can tell you that although he did suspect that Moriarty would try to kill him on the roof, and he had made plans to fake his death to fool Moriarty, not you, when it came down to it, he didn’t hesitate to risk his life to save yours. He can be impossible and unbearable and at times I could cheerfully slap him, but you will never have a more loyal friend. If you can see your way to speak with him, well it might help him. It might bring this thing to an end a bit more quickly.” 

“Can I sleep on it? Ring you back in, say, 12 hours, whatever time that is in London.”


	12. John Watson's Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson is being buried today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise to anyone who is reading this; I THOUGHT I had posted this little chapter two weeks ago and realised when I started on the next chapter that it was sitting there, just waiting to be tweaked and posted. So, finally, here it is.

“John, when this whole thing is over, I’ve agreed that he can travel to see you, to try to persuade you to come back. That doesn’t mean that you are under any obligation to do so. By then, you might have decided to stay where you are. All I’m asking of you is to give him a chance. He just doesn’t know how to treat a friend, because he has never had one. I can tell you that although he did suspect that Moriarty would try to kill him on the roof, and he had made plans to fake his death to fool Moriarty, not you, when it came down to it, he didn’t hesitate to risk his life to save yours. He can be impossible and unbearable and at times I could cheerfully slap him, but you will never have a more loyal friend. If you can see your way to speak with him, well it might help him. It might bring this thing to an end a bit more quickly.” 

“Can I sleep on it? Ring you back in, say, 12 hours, whatever time that is in London.”

“I’m sorry sir, I won’t be available for most of today. Could you make it later this evening? We’re actually going to my brother’s best friend’s funeral this afternoon. It’s been a rather difficult time for our family. John Watson was a good man and a good friend to my brother and me”. 

“Mycroft, he’s just walked in, hasn’t he?” 

“Why yes, that’s right.” 

“Can you just answer my questions? I assume that you have taken measures to protect my sister?” 

“Of course. I insisted on arranging it myself.” “After the stunt Sherlock pulled, I know that I wouldn’t believe it if you told me he was dead, Sophia probably won’t believe that I am; have you arranged security at the undertakers? To make sure Sophia can’t get in to check the body in the coffin.” 

“Of course, I thought the same thing.” 

“Is he coping? Is he all right?” John didn’t need to say the name. 

“No, not really. I’m hoping that the situation might be resolved soon. Perhaps we can speak tonight. Perhaps you could ring me at about 8. I’ll be free to speak then.” 

John did some quick calculations, “That is about 5am here, I’ll be working then. Could we make it 9pm your time, 6am here? I’ll be on my meal break and we can talk.” 

“I think that would be acceptable. I’ll speak to you this evening.” 

“Fine. By the way, check out who comes to my funeral for me. I’d love to know. And please look after Harry, she is a lost soul at the best of times.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As the car arrived at the funeral, Sherlock readied himself for the onslaught of photographers and microphones being shoved in his face. 

“Mr Holmes, how do you feel about lying to Dr Watson?” 

“Mr Holmes, do you think that Dr Watson’s killer was aiming at you?” 

"Mr Holmes, do you feel guilty for causing Dr Watson’s death?” 

The expression of sheer anguish on his face would have stopped the most inquisitive questioner, but the reporter, sensing that his story could hang on this answer, started to repeat the question. Immediately, two of Mycroft’s best men moved between Sherlock and the mass of reporters and photographers. With their backs to the Holmes brothers and facing the throng, they simply stated “This is a private funeral, please move away from the mourners. Now.” Instantly, half a dozen police officers suddenly moved towards the reporters, who turned to check the commotion. While their backs were turned, the security detail shielded Mycroft and Sherlock as they entered the chapel. 

Sherlock had expected that today would be difficult but with his superior knowledge of human nature and his reputation as a sociopath, he thought it would be easy to deceive the other mourners at John’s funeral. After all, he knew that it was all a sham; John was safe, even though Mycroft wouldn’t tell him where. Eventually, when Sophia Moran was captured, John might return to London and they could move back into Baker Street. It should be easy. He KNEW that John was alive, so why did he feel as though he had lost something of inestimable value. He was a sociopath, he didn’t care, he knew it was a weakness, so why did he feel so... fragile. Why was it so difficult to do this? He hadn’t planned to show any emotion –he knew that no-one would believe him if he did- so why was it so difficult to walk into the chapel and sit facing the coffin (not even John’s coffin, some homeless man was getting a better funeral than he would have expected). Even if it had been John, logic dictated that there was no point in emotion – a dead man wouldn’t know and it was only a sign of weakness. 

When Molly and Lestrade treated him as if he was John’s widower he became uncomfortable, but when he was confronted by Mrs Hudson, for the first time he realised what he had done to her when he pretended to be dead. The naked grief on her face was only matched by his own. For the first time since his childhood, Sherlock admitted to himself that he missed someone. And if John didn’t agree to come back when this was all over, he would miss his friend for the rest of his life. It was imperative that he persuade John to come back, and at the moment he didn’t even know what country he was in. If only he could speak to John, he might be able to mend things, but even he with all his deductive powers didn’t know how long it would take. He didn’t even know IF John would speak to him, yet alone WHEN.


	13. John's decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is struggling with a decision. Is he able to forgive his friend enough to talk to him or not.

John had only been in Sydney for a few days and he was grateful that for the first few weeks he had been rostered to work from 2am to 10am; his head and body were still operating on London time. It did mean that the only places he had seen were the trip from the airport to his new flat and the trip between his flat and the hospital, but after the trauma of the past few weeks, he was not about to complain about his quiet life.

The other staff members that he had already met seemed friendly, but it was difficult to socialise after finishing work not long after the sun came up. So far, they had just chatted a bit in the staff canteen, and between patient admissions in the emergency ward. John found the hardest thing was to remember that he was now James; a few times he had thought that they were talking to someone else, when he suddenly realised that he was expected to answer. He hoped his explanation of jet lag made sense. How on earth had Sherlock done this for two years!

Tonight, it seemed wrong to wish for more medical emergencies but a motor accident or domestic violence case would have kept his mind off the phone call he had promised to make in his meal break. Even though he had promised Mycroft an answer, he still had no idea what it would be. On the one hand, he knew that the sooner Sherlock solved the problem the sooner he could go home, and Sherlock had told him before he ‘died’ that John’s input helped him to solve problems, that John reflected the light that shone into the dark recesses of Sherlock’s mind. On the other hand, he was still hurt, angry, upset that he had been lied to. If Sherlock had trusted him, John could have reflected that light for the past two years and Sherlock would have wiped out Moriarty’s web sooner. Every time there was a pause in the flow of patients, his mind turned to his dilemma and yet he was no closer to an answer.

“James.”

“James.”

“James, are you with us? You look like you’re in another world. Not missing someone special, are you?” 

“What, no, well missing my friends of course, but no-one special. Well, my best friend really but ...” his voice trailed off. Jenny was one of the prettier nurses he had met so far, and over the past couple of days she had made a couple of possibly flirtatious comments , but after totally misjudging Sophia, he wondered if he would ever read the signals correctly again. He continued, “I just broke up with someone I thought was special, and while I don’t really miss her, I do have other friends I miss. One of them is having some problems at the moment and I wish I could help him, but he’s in London. Distance, you know how it is.”

“It’s almost your meal break, and it’s quiet tonight; why don’t you take your break now and ring him, let him know you’re thinking of him. It might put your mind at rest if you can just speak to him. It always helps me if I’m worried about someone, just to talk to them for a while. Go on, we’ll be fine for a while.”

It was as if the answer was right in front of him. Sherlock wouldn’t know where he was, he wouldn’t be able to get here and he wouldn’t be able to make John go back. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to him, and it might help him to solve the problem. One of the good things about working through the night was that at 6am the staff canteen was deserted, so he chose a fairly boring looking chicken casserole and took it to the far corner. With any luck, if someone did come in they wouldn’t see him.

The phone was answered on the second ring. 

“Mycroft?” 

“Yes, how are you?” 

“I’m fine, is he there?” 

“In the next room, do you want to speak to him?” 

“Yes, I will. I still won’t come back, but if it helps him solve this mystery, well, it’s the least I can do.” 

Even at a distance, John could hear Mycroft’s sigh of relief, and then overheard the conversation between the brothers; 

“Sherlock, this call is for you.” 

“I can’t possibly talk to one of your associates Mycroft, no matter how important they may think they are.” 

“This is not an associate Sherlock, well at least not one of mine. This is one of your associates, one might even say a friend of yours.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous Mycroft, I only have one friend.” 

“As I said, it’s a friend of...” 

Suddenly it was Sherlock’s voice speaking across half a world, “John?” 

John insisted that he wanted to know who had turned up at his funeral, and was surprised to hear that they chapel had been full to overflowing. 

“Was Sophia there, do you think?” 

“Not as far as I know. Mycroft and some of his agents had met her, and they seemed sure that she wasn’t there, but there were people from all over the place. People from Barts, Mike Stamford and Molly of course, Mrs Hudson and you wouldn’t believe how many people from the yard. Apparently some of your colleagues from Edinburgh car-pooled to drive down and there were even people who went to school with you and an endless stream of ex-girlfriends. And quite a few soldiers. I spent the afternoon learning about the lives you saved, which was just as well, because none of the girlfriends would talk to me! But no, no sign of Sophia. It’s a mystery, because I was almost sure she would be there.” 

“Harry, what about Harry, was she there? How is she?” 

“Not well John.” John knew what that meant, she had probably been drinking from the time they told her he was dead. 

“Will she forgive me, do you think? Will any of them?” 

“Two years ago I would have been certain that they would, but now, well I’m not so sure. I can tell you that when you actually DO die, we’re going to need an open coffin or no-one will believe it. Well Mycroft tells me that’s what he plans to do with me.” 

“Well in that case you had better look after yourself so you can die peacefully in your bed. An open coffin won’t work if you end up being beaten to a pulp.” 

There was a moment of silence, as they both remembered that the last time Sherlock had ‘died’, the coffin had been closed to cover his supposedly broken remains. 

“I just hope Harry will forgive me. She has been through a lot, and she’s not strong. I know it’s not something you would normally do but if you can’t look after her, can you ask Mycroft to keep an eye on her. I’m worried that Sophia might try to target her. After all, it’s all about brothers, isn’t it? Her brother, Harry’s brother, maybe even your brother, but Mycroft is probably well protected.” 

“John! I knew that it would help if we could speak, brothers; that might be the solution. I have to go to Harry’s place.” 

“OK Sherlock, give the phone back to Mycroft. He knows how to contact me. I expect a phone call in 24 hours. Text messages in the meantime so I know you’re alright.”


	14. Going to Harry's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wants to go to Harry's place immediately, but neither John nor Mycroft agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter to prove that I haven't forgotten you. The whole ending has had to be changed, because my characters insisted that my original ending was wrong -who am I (or any of us) to disagree with Dr Watson or the Holmes boys!  
> Now I've re-written it, this should be posted within a week or so.

As Sherlock passed the phone to Mycroft, John could hear him telling Mycroft that he had to go NOW to see Harry. 

“For God’s sake Mycroft, stop him. It must be the middle of the night there, and the last thing he wants to do is barge in on Harry if she is drunk or worse still, wake her up if she is asleep.” 

“Sherlock, stop. Now! Sherlock, John needs to speak to you again.” And then Mycroft passed the phone back to his brother. 

“Sherlock, it’s the middle of the night, if you want any sort of co-operation from Harry, you should wait until morning. I lived with her until she was 17; let me tell you, she is not happy to be woken in the middle of the night. Stop and think about how you’re going to approach this. You’re probably right that Sophia will target Harry, but this is not the time to barge in on her. Whatever it is, it can wait until morning. Give you time to work out the logistics too.” John was unsurprised by Sherlock’s dismissive snort, but at least he seemed to be listening. 

“Alright, what time does she usually wake up?” 

“It’s been a few years, but if I was going to ring her, I’d make a point of waiting until about 8, 7.30 if it was an emergency.”

Sherlock felt ambivalent about the delay; on the one hand he wanted to solve the Sophia problem as quickly as possible so that John would come home. On the other hand, John seemed quite emphatic that it would be best to wait until morning to disturb Harry, and although he didn’t really care about Harry’s feelings, and in fact had found that disturbing people in the middle of the night sometimes led to them inadvertently letting slip information they would have otherwise concealed, he REALLY didn’t want to upset John any more than he was already. He reluctantly agreed to wait, and to text John before he went to see Harry, and then when he left her place. He would not, however, agree to taking Mycroft with him. 

“Sherlock, Mycroft has met Sophia. He can give Harry an idea of what she is like, and, well, I know you are trying at the moment, but really, Mycroft is still more diplomatic. You can be charming when it suits you, but Mycroft makes it look easier, more natural.” 

“John, I can be charming when I want to be. My manners can be just as good as his!” 

“I know that, but remember, Mycroft has access to transport, and secret service people and he just looks like what he says is official. You, well...” 

“Alright! I know all that. If it’s so important to you I’ll take him with me, but I warn you, if he’s not ready to go in the morning, I’m going without him.”

John finished his meal and returned to work, somewhat relieved, but still anxious about his friend and his sister. Sherlock and Mycroft should be at Harry’s place while John was sleeping, but he doubted he would sleep well until he knew how well the visit had gone.

Meanwhile, Sherlock was arguing with Mycroft that he didn’t need sleep; he was on a case and he never slept on cases. Eventually Mycroft gave up arguing, and went to bed, setting his alarm for 6am and warning Sherlock that he was under no circumstances to leave the house without him. Sherlock hurled himself onto the settee and would have vigorously denied that he was asleep within moments.

When he awoke at 6am, Mycroft found Sherlock immaculately dressed and ready to go. In vain he argued that they should eat breakfast as they could not leave for more than an hour. Finally, Mycroft prepared a plate of honeyed toast and left it on the kitchen bench next to Sherlock’s tea. While he skimmed the on-line news headlines, he was amused to see his brother absent mindedly munching on the toast triangles. When they were finished, he stood and suggested that it was time for them to be driven to Harry’s.


	15. Wild about Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Mycroft visit Harry. It doesn't go well

As they drove to Harry’s flat, the brothers exchanged angry glances. When the car pulled up outside Harry Watson’s flat, Mycroft instinctively reached over to grab Sherlock’s forearm. As Sherlock abruptly pulled his arm away and reached to open the door, Mycroft spoke sharply.   
“Sherlock. Stop.”   
“...”   
“I’m serious Sherlock, I promised John I would take care of Harry, I will not let you barge in there are cause her further distress. Unlike you, she truly believes that her last remaining relative is dead. You’re having trouble coping without him, and you know the truth, how much more difficult is it for Miss Watson.”   
“Mycroft, I have no intention of harming her, but the sooner we find John’s would-be killer, the sooner he can come home. I would rather not talk to her at all, she never liked me, but I MUST find the truth, and if talking to Harry Watson will help then that’s what I have to do.”   
As Mycroft reached for the doorbell, he frowned again at his brother, then as the door was opened, he turned with a smile on his face,   
“Miss Watson, Harry, I never had the chance to talk to you yesterday, but there really are some things we need to discuss. May we come in?” 

Harry reluctantly moved aside and let them in, then closed the door behind them.   
“And to what do I owe this honour, have you come to apologise for killing my brother?” Mycroft put out a restraining hand, but it was ignored.   
“Harry, I apologised to John for deceiving him; he wasn’t happy about it, but he understood that I did it to save his life. He wasn’t upset that I had placed him in danger, he was upset that I didn’t trust him to be able to defend himself. John never ran away from danger, he thrived on it. I AM sorry he’s dead, I will always wonder if there was some way I could have prevented it, and I know that I will miss him desperately for the rest of my life, but it wasn’t my fault. All I can do to make it up to you is to find the person who IS responsible. If you loved John as much as I think you did, maybe you can help us.”   
Chastened, Harry gestured for them to sit,   
“What can I do to help?” As Mycroft was about to respond, Sherlock interrupted.   
“We think that the killer might try to get to you. I think that one of the men who was killed while I was cleaning up Moriarty’s web is the brother of our killer. We think that my brother and John’s sister might be targets. I’m sure that Mycroft is secure but I’m worried about you. Can we put a security officer in your home or should we put you in a safe house?”   
“No, I’m not having some clumsy copper in my home, and I’m not going to be scared away. I would rather trust my friends.”   
Sherlock rose to his feet, “Friends, bah! They can’t save you if someone comes after you with a gun.”   
“Sherlock!”   
“See, John told me you were like this. After you died, well after he thought you died, he told me you had argued with him about friends, how you didn’t understand that friends are the best protection. You didn’t get it then and you don’t get it now. Having my friends around me is the best way to stay safe.”   
“In some cases, but...”   
“No. The best protection I can have is to be with my friends. Since John died, my friends have been my rock. Every night one of them has stayed with me. When I go out they go with me, when I go to work, one of them will take me. Even when I go to my doctor or the grief support group she sent me to, one of my friends takes me. My FRIENDS, Sherlock Holmes, are what protect me.”   
“Miss Watson, I can understand...”   
“No you DON’T Mr Holmes. You’re as bad as your brother, you don’t understand what it’s like for us ordinary people, who don’t have money or power or anything special, just ordinary people like me need our friends.”   
Sherlock was pacing around the room but he suddenly stopped and turned toward Harry with a manic look on his face.   
“Grief group. Why on earth would you be going to a grief group?”   
“Are you totally lacking in understanding of normal emotions? My brother. John. He’s dead. How do you think I would react?”   
“Yes, I understand that part of it, but it’s only been twelve days. Normally your doctor wouldn’t even think about grief support for a month or two. Why would your doctor refer you to a grief group only a few days after John died? At this stage you should still be numb. It doesn’t make sense.”   
“Well that shows how much you know. My doctor knows I’ve had ... problems. Well it’s not always been easy. And I met someone who told me that she goes to a grief group to help her cope with the death of her brother. When I told her my brother had just died, she suggested I should go to one too. I was having trouble coping and she told me I should see my doctor for sleeping pills and a referral to a group. So I did. She was right, it helps to talk about how I feel with people who understand. “   
“And this new friend, are you so sure she is trustworthy? Your judgement hasn’t always been reliable.”   
“SHERLOCK!”   
“WHAT? I’m only telling her the truth. We know that John’s judgement was good and his killer got close to him. How do we know that Harry hasn’t been drawn in by John’s killer too?”   
“That’s it! I can’t take any more of this. I want you both to leave now. Right away. I need you to go.” 

As Mycroft started towards the door, he grabbed Sherlock by the arm and dragged him out of Harry’s flat.   
“Well that didn’t go very well.”   
“Whose fault could that have been Sherlock? When we come back later, let me do the talking. Please.”


	16. The end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For more than two years, Sherlock had been working to destroy Jim Moriarty's network. There is only one person left.

As they drove to Mycroft’s office, Sherlock’s mind was racing, what was the best way to check Harry’s friends and acquaintances, surely one of them was Sophia Moran.   
“Mycroft...” the reluctance in his voice was clear, “your cameras, you will make sure they follow her, won’t you?”   
For a moment Mycroft considered waiting until his brother was ready to beg for help, but the knowledge that Sherlock was suffering unfamiliar emotions softened his heart a little.   
“Sherlock, it is scarcely necessary, I have had Harry Watson under surveillance since you met John. Low level at first, but over time her security level has been upgraded and agents have been following Harry around the clock since John was shot. We will be meeting with some of them later this morning.”

In the conference room, Sherlock recognised not only Sam Wright, David Betts and Anthea, but also some familiar faces from the Baker Street neighbourhood –the paper seller from outside the railway station and a waitress from a coffee shop half a block in the other direction. Maybe he had underestimated the abilities of Mycroft’s team. He wondered how many of them knew the truth about John –that he was half a world away, but safe, not lying in a grave in Hampstead. Over the next hour and a half, Harry Watson’s movements over the past ten days were detailed and analysed.   
Finally, David Betts summarised the situation. “The only times she could have met someone without us knowing were when she was in the classroom or staffroom, in her doctor’s surgery or in her own flat. Every time she is in a public place, someone is watching her. If she has met someone new since her brother was shot, it’s in one of those three places.”  
Sherlock immediately seized on this,   
“Why isn’t someone checking at her work? Surely she is there for longer than anywhere except her home. Why isn’t anyone following her all day?”  
“We do have someone in the school office, but they can’t be with her all day without arousing her suspicion.”   
“Has anyone else been employed at the school since John was shot? Apart from your agent, that is?”   
“There are always one or two casual teachers and support staff at the school at any given time. We have checked the agency that provides them, and as far as we can tell they are safe, but it is always possible...” His voice trailed off.   
Sherlock snapped: “I need an immediate check on everyone who has started to work at the same school as Harry Watson since John was shot.”   
Agent Betts looked towards Mycroft, who nodded his agreement, then he left the room to supply Sherlock with the information he needed.   
The vision from the CCTV cameras Harry had passed in the last week and a half continued to run on the large screen, but the only conclusion anyone could draw from that was that for all the chaos in her private life, Harry lived a repetitive and unexciting life. Some days it was home to school to home. Some days it was home to school to the doctor to home. Some days she went out at 7pm to a meeting at a local hall, then after a couple of hours she went home. On Saturday she went to the supermarket in the morning and then to a local pub in the evening. On Sunday the curtains in her flat remained closed all day-Harry obviously enjoyed her ‘day of rest’.   
By the time David Betts returned, Sherlock was pacing the room in frustration. As the agent re-entered the room, all eyes turned towards him.   
“Well, we might have missed something. One of the support workers in Miss Watson’s department had an accident two days after John Watson was shot. It was a hit and run. She will hopefully live, but she is still in a coma. In the meantime a casual worker has been filling in at the school. We knew nothing about this until I contacted the agency a few minutes ago.”   
“Mycroft! If your department’s incompetence...”   
“Sherlock, they are not incompetent.” Mycroft’s voice trailed off, but the look on his face showed clearly that some members of the team would be reassigned within the day.   
Sherlock started to move towards the door, when his brother grasped his wrist.   
“Sherlock, wait.”   
“WAIT? Are you... No, I’m going now before she has the chance”   
“SHERLOCK HOLMES! John will never forgive you if your impatience gets Harry killed.”   
“Do you seriously think he is going to forgive me anyway? At least we can catch this woman and make his life safe. He might never come back, but knowing he is safe somewhere is far better than knowing he is in danger. I have to stop her.”   
“I don’t know if he will forgive you, but it’s possible. John Watson always surprises me; I think it is likely that, in time, he will. Before you met him I never thought anyone would do the things John Watson has done for you. You may well treasure his friendship, but no more than he treasures yours. Before he met you, John had no-one except Harry. He might forgive you. But he won’t forgive anyone who places Harry at unnecessary risk”   
“That’s ridiculous. John has lots of friends. Harry is about the only person who has ever met him who doesn’t get on with him.”   
“Wrong, Sherlock. John has lots of acquaintances, but very few friends. When I told him we needed to get him out of the country, the only person he wanted to contact was Harry. They may have a difficult relationship, much like you and me, but Harry is essential in his life. Just as you are essential to mine. And I like to think, I am to yours.”   
“Well I can’t just sit here, waiting. There must be something we can do.”   
“Yes, of course there is. Anthea has contacted our agent at the school. She will contact the new casual worker, ask her to come to the pay office, something about her hours of work and her pay rates. She will go. Even if she is there to pursue Harry Watson, it would blow her cover if she didn’t go. We will be there when she arrives at the office. Come along Sherlock, we have a sniper to secure.”

Within a couple of minutes, two cars with the Holmes brothers and three agents were heading towards Harry’s school. On arrival, Mycroft waved his ID at the office receptionist.   
“We are from the Inland Revenue Department, we need to speak to someone in your payroll section.”   
Somewhat flustered, the woman led them down a corridor to an office where a non-descript woman was seated at a workstation. The woman thanked her, assured her that she would handle everything and the receptionist left. It was only a minute or so after the door closed that the woman addressed Mycroft.   
“Sir, I contacted Susie McDonald, she should be here in a few minutes. Where do you want to be when she arrives.   
“I think my brother and I might wait here, beside the door. She won’t be able to see us until she enters the room. If she is not the person we are seeking, we can just leave. If she IS Sophia Moran, we will have the advantage of surprise. Is there somewhere nearby that my agents can wait?”   
“The deputy headmistress’ office is next to mine. She is meeting with the headmistress at the moment. There is an interconnecting door.” She gestured to the door, and Sam Wright, David Betts and Anthea passed through.

After the turmoil of the past two years, the end when it came was totally anticlimactic. Sophia Moran entered the office, and when Mycroft spoke to her, she rose from her chair. Staring at Sherlock as if he truly was a ghost, she raised her chin defiantly.   
“You! I was so sure you were dead after you killed Jim, and then the people who worked with him started dying. I thought it was just a weird coincidence, and then you killed my brother. I wasn’t sure it was you at first but I was determined to make you pay. So I did. I lost Jim and my brother because of you, but you lost John Watson, so I think that makes us even.”   
“You’re wrong you know. I didn’t kill Jim. I wanted him alive to call off the people who were prepared to kill my friends. He killed himself, just out of spite. And your brother, well, I didn’t know who he was but he was trying to pass on ‘orders from headquarters’. By then, Jim’s network was starting to get jittery. Suspicious of strangers. Your brother went to San Francisco at just the wrong time. I stirred up some resentment and a gang war broke out –he was one of the first casualties. I think you’re the last one, aren’t you? No-one else is left. Only a few foot soldiers, but without someone to run the organisation and make sure they get paid, they’ll drift away.”   
“But you still won’t have John Watson, so no matter what you do to me, I will have the satisfaction of knowing that you have lost as much as I have.”   
“Wrong! Totally wrong. You missed. John Watson is alive. He may choose to not come back to me, but I will always know that he is alive and safe. There are a lot of things I couldn’t do for him, but I know that he is alive. You lost.”   
He turned towards his brother, “Mycroft, I don’t care what you do with her. Can your people take care of it? We need to talk to Harry Watson, and then I want to ring John and tell him he can come home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue might be the most important part of the story. Soon!


	17. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crime is solved, Sherlock, John and Harry are safe. Now some bridges have to be built

While Anthea found someone to bring Harry Watson to the office, Mycroft rang John.  
When his call was unanswered, he left a brief message; “It’s over. Everyone is fine. Please ring me as soon as you can.”  
John returned the call moments after Mycroft and Sherlock had explained to Harry that her brother was still alive, although in a different country.  
“John. Hello. Yes, everything is fine, Harry is safe, so is Sherlock. I’m less than impressed with all this ‘legwork’. She confessed everythi...”  
Harry breathlessly snatched the phone out of Mycroft’s hand “John, John Watson, what do you think you’re playing at? John I’ll kill you if you ever try a stunt like this again. When are you coming home?”  
“What do you mean, you’re not coming home? School holidays? In two weeks. I’m not sure I could afford... OK, he is here.”  
Harry pushed Sherlock’s hand away as he tried to snatch the phone from her. She listened for a few more moments, then passed the phone to Mycroft, “He says he needs to talk to you.” Sherlock was almost vibrating with frustration, and tried again to snatch the phone.  
Mycroft evaded the grasping hands and listened intently. “Yes, I’m sure that can be arranged. Will she need accommodation or will she stay at your flat? Yes, that might be best. Now, do you want to talk to...”  
The phone was snatched from him. “John...”  
“Sherlock, I was still talking to Mycroft.”  
“Don’t be ridiculous John, you have been talking to him for long enough. I need to know, when are you coming home?”  
“I’m not. Well not for a while anyway. I’ve only been here a bit over a week and I’ve hardly seen anything yet, but so far so good. I might stay here. Mycroft is arranging for Harry to come here in two weeks.”  
“Where is ‘here’ John?”  
“I thought you would have deduced it by now.”  
“Well, you’re in a different time zone, maybe in America, no, it would need to be a Commonwealth country for Mycroft to arrange the paperwork? Canada? No I know how his mind works, you needed to be kept safe so as far as it is possible to go, so Australia or New Zealand, I remember you liked that holiday in New Zealand, but there is always the chance you might be recognised, not likely, but always possible. So Australia, I think you once said you fancied Tasmania, but, no, too small, a stranger would stand out too much, so a large city, Sydney or Melbourne. I think the climate in Melbourne is a bit more like England, so Melbourne it is.”  
“Good deduction that, but not quite. The climate is a bit more like England in Melbourne, so that’s why I’m in Sydney. Not tropical but certainly warmer than Melbourne, and even though it’s summer in London, it’s almost as warm here.”  
“John, why stay there, why not come home, it’s much more suitable here, more exciting, more dangerous.”  
“Sherlock, I’m working in the Emergency department of a large hospital, I get to use some of my languages I picked up in Iraq and Afghanistan and it’s certainly not dull. The odd knifing and shotgun wound to make me feel at home.”  
“But...”  
“No, it still hurts that you didn’t trust me enough, I don’t know if I can ever get over that.”  
“But...”  
“I know, you thought it was for the best, but sometimes you really don’t think things through. Look, even though I’m still upset, why don’t you come here for a few days, see where I live, where I work, meet the people I work with. You can have a holiday.”  
“Holiday? Yuk! No, I will come to visit, just to make sure you are fine. I can be there tomorrow. Is your flat big enough for my experiments?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where do we go from here? Well, the story is finished, so they go where ever your imagination takes them.  
> Thank you to everyone who read and commented here or elsewhere.


End file.
